


Dalliance with a Dance

by deskclutter



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: F/M, Gen, Multi, ending spoilers, writer angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-25
Updated: 2010-06-25
Packaged: 2017-10-10 06:34:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deskclutter/pseuds/deskclutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A picture says a thousand words, but Fakir must lay them out one by one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dalliance with a Dance

**Title:** Dalliance with a Dance  
**Day/Theme:** October 12th / angel of the morning  
**Series:** Princess Tutu  
**Character/Pairing:** Fakir/Ahiru  
**Rating:** PG

  
Cobbles mark the streets of Kinkan Town, uneven steps of brick and mortar veining their way around the town. They run to the old ruins; up to the river and across the bridge. They tiptoe their way around the Academy and scatter, meander around the shops and curio shops, by the peddlers on the corners and the pedestrians who walk or run or waddle. There is a fountain at the heart of Kinkan Town, and even here the cobblestones circle.

Marble figures dance in the middle of the sprinkle of water, one male and one female. Fakir can never quite make out their ballet, only that they are dancing, as though someone simply moulded the human form over marble, hard and cold and chilled by the water. They are stuck unmoving in their dance.

He remembers once a girl sketched Rue, and she caught a glimpse across the paper, each sly and shifting facet confined to every sheet, and there were many. Perhaps if Princess Tutu had not returned the heart shard, that artist would have caught every polished surface to the heart beneath it. But none of those images coalesced fully into _Rue_, Rue who hated change and loved it, Rue who was Kraehe just for Mytho and Kraehe to stop Princess Tutu. Rue who danced and Rue who loved and felt and hoped and fell and rose again.

How well can a person know another? Fakir tells himself the artist girl may have loved Rue, but she had not seen the whole and nothing but the whole of Rue, whereas _he_...

It is a cold comfort.

It's said a picture says a thousand words, and even with so many of Rue it wasn't enough. Fakir only has words, alphabet and syllable tumbling through his mind in syntactical pattern, and how can that be enough?

He thinks of a red-haired girl, clumsy and bright as a cheeky-eyed robin. She dances, rising to a wobbly tiptoe. The sunlight smiles on her. She isn't frost or marble.  
What sort of picture says a thousand words? What is the difference in one extra dimension, or does it not matter at all? What if he needs more than a thousand, or a thousand thousand? What if he needs all the words at his command? He has already used so many up to stop Drosselmeyer, to move the story.

There are two dancers, in an old, old story, and together they danced away the dark.

Fakir takes up his pen. Ahiru isn't marble, and neither is he.


End file.
